Like Whiskey
by HigherMagic
Summary: Demon!Dean/Leviathan!Castiel. Together they feed and fight their way through the USA. Until Dean finds himself trapped in a house full of hunters with no way out. Needles to say, Cas will not be happy.


**Title:** Like Whiskey  
><strong>FandomGenre:** Supernatural  
><strong>Pairing(s):<strong> Dean/Castiel, Dean/Castiel/OFC, Castiel/OMC, mentions of Dean/OMCs  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>TrackWord Count:** Big Bang Track (Just over 10,000 now, probably about 17,000 by the end)  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> non-con, dub-con, cannibalism, violent character death, self-harm (not emotional), and allusions towards incest, emotional abuse, D/s dynamics.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> When Castiel tried to open the door to Purgatory, his demon companion was there with him every step of the way. Now, with the power of the Leviathan fueling Castiel, he and Dean fight, feed and f*ck their way through the United States. Dean picks the victims and Castiel can eat his fill - quite an elegant solution. Until Dean targets the home of three Hunters and finds himself trapped in their home with no way out. Needless to say, Castiel will not be happy. An alternate for seasons 4, 5 and 6. Cowritten with sully86 from LiveJournal.

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><p>She tastes like oranges – the sweet, crisp flavor of summer fruit on Castiel's tongue, as he leans down and suckles at the tiny puncture wound on her neck, his long tongue gently coaxing more blood to the surface, sucking a large, dark bruise around the cut. She is shivering, whimpering, and the saline burn of tears is heavy in the air, mixing with the chemicals in her make-up and the oil of her skin. It smells like home. Like the sea.<p>

"She's beautiful," he whispers, smiling too wide, flashing too many of his sharp, backward-facing teeth. His hands turn into claws in her soft, delicate skin – so fine, so breakable – and he inhales at the thick, dark line of her hair, breathing out slowly, savoring her taste like a stallion scenting his in-season mare. "Where did you find her?"

"Where d'ya think?" comes the reply, and Castiel turns his head, Leviathan eyes – gold and black mixing and marring his vessel's blue – flashing as he snarls at the tone. His demon companion smirks at him; chin raised in defiance, eyes black and unblinking. "She was easier than most," he says, upper lip curling back in a light sneer. "Like she wanted to die."

The girl trembles again, a low whimper spilling from her mouth as she presses her lips together, a fresh wave of tears spilling down her cheeks. It makes Castiel tremble with hunger. "You want him, sweetheart?" Dean asks, voice low and hissing like a large python as he steps up to the girl, letting his fingertips drag just lightly over the fringe of her hair, her brows slanting with fear and pain, her cheeks, stained with tears and mascara. She looks up at him, dark brown eyes wide and liquid, and shakes her head. "You sure?" the demon croons, one side of his mouth quirking up higher than the other as he leans down, nuzzling into her hair, one hand across her mouth keeping her quiet. She whimpers again. "Sounds like you do," he murmurs, taking a large, loud breath. "Smells like you do, too."

"N-no," she whispers, shaking her head, her arms shaking as they try and hold her up, support her weight when Castiel slithers over her body, his open, eager mouth pressing against the exposed wing of her shoulder blade, his hands circling her tiny waist, down to cup between her legs. Her breath hitches in a tiny, pathetic little hiccup. "No, please -."

"You came for sex, right?" Dean asks, his grin matching Castiel's too-wide one, his eyes flaring with black fire, eager – hungry. Castiel's hunger is starting to get to him, the bloodlust in the air. The small cut on the back of her neck, left by one of Castiel's sharp teeth, has started to bleed again, torn open by her movements, and a thin rivulet of blood runs down the side of her neck to become lost in her thick hair. "That's what you wanted? To fuck me? To fuck him?"

"I…" She sobs, hanging her head.

"She's so wet, Dean," Castiel murmurs, licking at the dip of her spine as two of his long, skilled fingers sink into her, making her whimper and shudder. The girl cries out when one of Castiel's sharp, claw-like nails digs into her from within, soaking her with fine droplets of blood as well as her own natural slick. The Leviathan grins, eyes flashing a very dark gold. "She wants it bad."

"I'm afraid he's right, darlin', I can smell you from here." His black eyes narrow as his hands run down her shoulders and over her arms, his callous fingers circling her wrists painfully and he grins when she cries out again. "And he never lies to me." He brings her arms together behind her back, forcing her to bend with it as she sobs loudly and the smell of blood and tears gathers heavier in the air. "She has pretty skin baby, I think I want to see some more of it." He grins at Castiel over her shoulder as he pulls a knife from the pocket of his jeans. The blade is sharp, wickedly curving, and the sliver glints in the seedy motel lighting.

"N-no, please don't." She sobs loudly; her tears run down her bent face and drip in to the wound on the back of her neck that is slowly staining her beautiful white dress. That will not be the last of it to mar that dress tonight, not if the look in Castiel's eyes has anything to say about it.

Flecks of black mar the gold and pulse lightly, his mouth is set in a wicked grin that shows off his sharp white teeth. "Not all of it." He snarls and continues to grin as his free hand lingers on her hip, his claws digging through the dress, and ripping thin lines through it as he drags them across the skin of her hip. Red wells up as she screams and it stains the dress as it starts to run down her leg in thin rivulets.

Dean laughs; a deep dark sound and his eyes slide back to bright green. "I hope you taste as good as you smell, darlin'," he drawls, looking in to her wide brown eyes as his hand tightens on her thin wrists. He smirks, showing her the knife before bringing it down in a flash and cutting open the front of her dress. The fabric falls to the side exposing her bare chest. He hears her let out a shaky sob at the same time that he sees the thin line of blood on her belly.

Dean falls to his knees leaving her to sag back on Castiel and groan when his clawed fingers sink deeper in to her slick body. "See, you do want it," Castiel says with a grin, he watches Dean lap at the wound on her belly as he drags the knife up her inner right thigh. She starts to scream and Castiel just laughs knowing that in this rent by the hour 'motel' that won't do a thing for her. His finger wiggles inside of her and his tongue snakes out again to lick at the sweat on her brow as his hips push in to the curve of her ass. The hardness there makes her flinch and shake all over.

"No, no please don't. I have family and-"

"Go on and tell us where they are, then. We can bring the party to them." Dean smiles and his free hand drags up the front of her naked flesh smearing a bloody line between her perky breasts. Castiel's laugh is dark in the demon's ear, curling around the both of them like thick black smoke.

"Can you imagine?" he croons, gathering some of the blood from her belly onto his fingers and then tracing the lines of her face, listening to her small, disgusted, frightened noise as she tries to turn her face away from the sick feeling of her own blood. "When they find out what a little bitch you were, practically begging us to fuck you."

"We'll be sure to tell them how much you enjoyed it, sweetheart," Dean continues, baring red teeth against what little of her dress remains, tattered and bloody around her thighs and waist. "Be sure to let them know just how prettily you squealed for us, begging for it like the slut you are."

She falls quiet again after that, shaking her head, but Castiel grins, pressuring her lips to part so that he can slide two of his bloody fingers into her mouth. He grinds against her ass, lust pulsing through him at the sight, and he feels his hunger spiking.

"Such a good, pretty girl," he croons, smiling down at Dean where he is kneeling between her legs. "How does she taste, Dean?"

The demon smiles, licking at the smear of blood on his lips. "Like cinnamon," he replies, eagerness flashing in his fiery eyes, as he leans in and licks again, underneath her belly button, blood smearing where her dress still covers her, and rents the material back with another professional stroke of his knife, before he lets the blade fall to the floor, pushing the remains of her dress down and off of her.

"I tasted oranges," Castiel notes, as though discussing the weather, his hand slowly pulling out from where it had been buried within her, slick with her blood and her juices. The scent of pheromones is almost intoxicating. Castiel grinds harder.

"Cut with water," Dean whispers.

"Like whiskey."

They both laugh. "Damn, sweetheart, you smell divine," Dean murmurs, chuckling at his own little ironic joke, as he leans in, nose dragging along the bare mound between her legs - she'd shaved and the scent of her skin, sweat and blood and sex mixing together, makes the demon's mouth water. "I could just eat you all up."

"First thing's first, Dean," Castiel growls, impatience biting at him as he pulls his fingers out of her mouth, wrapping his arm around her small waist. He chuckles, smirking as he meets his demon companion's eyes, and his wet fingers push inside of her ass, claws extending and ripping her open slightly as he pulls out. "Much better." He slides his hand away, curling around her waist again and starts the slow, unyielding push inside of her. She screams again, loud enough to make Dean growl low - it sounds like a 'No', but is unintelligible around the moan of pain. More tears wash down her cheeks as she struggles against his hold and his cock.

"That's it, pretty girl," Dean whispers, his body practically vibrating with glee. "Scream." He smiles as Castiel growls against her neck, and his free hand reaches down and pulls one of her legs up as Castiel fucks in to her, relishing in her screams and cries.

Dean takes the opportunity to lap at the blood running down her leg. He digs his tongue in to it, forcing more blood out and biting down on her thigh. He makes his way to her pussy, digging his tongue in to the folds and dragging it along, moaning at her sweet taste. "Too bad we can't keep this one." He bites down on her clit, smirking as she screams. His fingers push deep in to her body, shoving in and out of her and he flicks his tongue over her clit. She is screaming and moaning now in earnest, her head thrown back, lovely raven hair falling between her neck and Castiel's, marred with blood and black spit from Castiel's snarling mouth.

Castiel grins and bites down on to her neck with his pointed snake-like teeth. He moans when her cinnamon-orange blood fills his mouth and he keeps fucking in to her, not stopping until he is fully hilted inside of her tight, moist channel. "She does taste good." His forked tongue peeks out and runs over the wound on her neck. "And she screams so pretty." His bloody tongue laps at her tears. "But we don't keep pets Dean, you know that." His hand tightens on her thigh as he fucks her. She is still protesting, panting 'No' and 'Stop'; but there are more moans now, and her head sags as her body rocks back and forth with Castiel's rhythm.

The demon pouts at the reminder of no pets, but shrugs the thought away, returning his attention to the moaning human trapped between them. Dean uses the fingers of one hand to hold her lips apart and he drags the flat of his tongue over her clit roughly. His fingers pump in and out of her body as it clenches down still trying to fight the intrusion. "That's right; you're a good little bitch. Fight it to the end." He chuckles and continues to lap at her flesh as he sinks a third finger in to her pussy and fucks her on them.

"Mm," Castiel groans, licking once more at her neck as his hands tighten around her, hips rolling out and then fucking back in at a brutal pace. "She's tight, Dean. Real sweet."

The demon smirks. "Not gonna let me have a turn, though, are ya?" he asks, making the girl whimper as he presses his lips against her clit, sucking it into his mouth harshly, fingers curling inside of her. He can feel Castiel moving inside of her, can press against the Leviathan's cock if he moves just right, and she moans in pain at that.

Castiel merely laughs, shaking his head, and thrusts harder inside of the girl. One of his hands reaches down, cradling the back of her thigh, and lifts it over Dean's shoulder, giving the demon more access to the sensitive area between her legs. "Make her come, baby. Tastes better that way."

Dean gives a soft sound of assent, returning to his task of making the bitch come, of flooding her blood with the chemicals of orgasm so that Castiel can eat his fill of her before she turns sour. His tongue licks in, skilled and curving, following the line of his fingers when they plunge back into her, and he sucks hard at her clit, growling in triumph when she screams, her thighs trembling, knees going weak. The scent of pheromones almost doubles in the room and Dean moans softly, lapping at her juices as they spill out of her, and Castiel keeps thrusting, growling low as he nears his climax.

He comes with a low grunt, hips pressed flush against her ass as he fills her with his seed, before unceremoniously dumping the body on the floor. Dean makes a low sound, pushing her body away from him so she ends up laying on her front, gasping and choking, fingers feebly clawing at the dirty carpet.

Dean looks up to his companion. "Want her alive?"

Castiel cocks his head to one side, smirking a little. His eyes flash with that golden-black mix again, and he kneels down by her head. He can feel his teeth elongating, jaw working to become unhinged so he can start eating, but he barely holds himself back. Dean is not happy. He can feel it. But he will have to deal with that later - right now the smell of orgasm is fresh on her, it mingles with the scent of her blood and makes his mouth water as it opens wide. No, this one he is going to take whole, he can feel her struggle as he takes her in to his unhinged mouth. Her body flails until his tongue wraps around her throat and he breaks her neck.

Then he begins to feed, his sharp, serrated teeth chomping through delicate flesh and fine bone, not even chewing as he takes her in. Blood soaks his naked flesh and gathers in small pools, soaking into the carpet. His eyes flatten back to blue when he smells Dean in the air. Looking over he sees the demon lying on the floor, watching him eat and stroking his cock, his eyes flat black and dancing with Hellfire. His head is cocked to the side a little and his hand is flying over his stiff flesh fast. One leg is propped up and his thighs splayed open; from this angle Castiel can see his twitching puckered hole.

Then he smirks, bringing up his clawed hand and digging his nails into the skin of his chest. Castiel snarls, upper lip curling like a mountain cat's as Dean rips his hand downward, gouging four bloody lines down the center of his chest. The demon moans and his hand moves faster, body jerking with his impending orgasm. The smell of Dean's blood and sex in the air spurs him on, he swallows the bitch faster, needing to punish Dean for touching when he was never given permission. The demon knows better than to touch himself without being told to first - but now he is just being a prissy little bitch, touching himself because he is pissed off about Castiel getting off inside of this little whore.

Castiel finishes up with a heavy swallow, righting his jaw and letting what is left of the human woman flop to the ground, her guts spilling out and trailing on the blood-soaked carpet. He looks to Dean and shoots him an angry glare before his eyes slide to pure gold. That triggers the demon's orgasm; he whimpers and his body spasms and he comes all over his fist, shoulders curling in tight as he grunts and strokes himself through it.

Castiel snarls out loudly and Dean curls in tighter as he prowls across the floor through the bloody mess to tower over the demon's shaking form. The smell of Dean's anger and fear fills the air and the Leviathan stops for a moment to take it in.

His nostrils flare, blood welling up around his sharp teeth as they retract, dull, forming into their semi-normal state again. He is still snarling lowly, eyes flashing a brilliant, burning gold. "What the fuck was that?" he hisses, long tongue snaking out between his teeth before that, too, returns to normal, and he licks his lips, worsening the smear.

Dean presses his lips together, flashing human-green eyes up to look upon Castiel's face. Fear quickly melts into a trace of defiance, and he tilts his chin up, baring his throat in challenge. He shoves himself up to his feet but Castiel is there, one clawed hand gripping tightly into his shoulder, severing flesh and forcing him down to his knees again. The demon's eyes remain on his face.

"Someone's being a little bitch today," he growls, crouching down in front of the demon, his strong grip moving from Dean's shoulder to his chin, tilting it up. The demon's breath hitches, he licks his lips, and his eyes slide once again to black when Castiel leans in, placing a wet, sucking, open-mouthed kiss against Dean's throbbing pulse. "That time of the month, baby?"

"Fuck you," Dean snaps, growling low. "You can have all the fun and I can't?"

The laugh spilling from Castiel's mouth is rough and pleased, barely disguised amusement lingering in his throat. He purrs softly, too gentle a sound for such a violent creature, and nuzzles against Dean's throat. "That what this is about?" he whispers, fingers tightening harshly on Dean's face. "You jealous, baby?"

Dean mutters something under his breath, snarling words too low to be heard.

"You wanna repeat that?" Castiel demands with a low growl, eyes flashing.

The demon's lip curls back and he yanks his head back from Castiel's grip, rising to his feet. "You don't own me," he snaps, fists clenching as he turns away, intent on beginning to work his magic so that he can begin to clean up the mess.

Castiel snarls, getting to his feet, and has Dean up against a wall before the demon can blink. The demon gasps, gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw as he braces himself against the wall, fists clenched and pressing against the wall as Castiel's body plasters himself up along Dean's back.

"I think," he whispers, too softly, too gently when he runs his fingers across the side of Dean's face, around the back of his neck, pressing and holding as his mouth bites a small mark onto the wing of his demon lover's shoulder, "that you're forgetting your place here. Forgetting that you belong to me, are mine to do with or not do with as I damn well please."

Suddenly Dean is spun around, fast enough that he gasps and is slammed back hard enough against the wall to knock the wind out of him. He sucks in a quick breath, nostrils flaring wide, eyes blackened at the sight of Castiel still coated in the girl's blood - her cinnamon-orange blood, which had tasted and smelled so sweet with the stench of her fear and life, has turned sour and offends him to smell, to look at. He tries to turn his face away but Castiel catches him, ensnares him like a spider, and forces him to turn back to look his companion in his glowing golden eyes. "Come on, baby," Castiel whispers, baring his bloody teeth, red and black saliva mixing together in his grotesque grin. "Don't be that way."

"You shouldn't need her," Dean growls, jerking his head towards the bloodstain and pile of guts and tendon that remains of the girl. "You should only want me. You're mine."

"Oh." Castiel raises a brow, grinning. "Am I, now? When did that happen?"

"When I opened that Goddamn door to let you in," the demon hisses in reply, baring his teeth, surging forward only to be pressed against the wall by Castiel's strong hands. They're so close, now - Dean can feel the expand-contract of his lover's chest as he breathes, can gently cant his hips and spread his legs out so that Castiel's thread between his own, letting them remove the space between them, breathing each other's lust- and blood-soaked air. "You owe me everything."

Castiel laughs - dark, full-bellied, laughs at the demon, nails turning into claws in his skin. "You're so desperate to have all of me?" he taunts, his voice cruel and cutting as he fists a hand in Dean's hair, forcing the demon to his knees, level with his half-hard cock, which is still coated in blood and semen from the girl. "Go on. Take. Don't let me stop you."

It feels like a challenge, and it is - Dean flashes rage-filled eyes up to the Leviathan, snarling even as he flattens his palms across Castiel's hipbones, pulling him in, and nuzzles against his crotch. The scent of blood and seed is maddening and he is quick to take Castiel into his mouth, tongue curling, lips forming a tight seal and sucking hard.

"What a dirty little bitch you are," Castiel gasps, half-groaning the words as he fists a hand in Dean's hair, forcing him further down on Castiel's cock. The demon moans and takes it, experienced in the task of sucking Castiel off, as he buries his nose in the wiry, crisp, blood-soaked hair at the base of his lover, swallowing and moaning to try and get Castiel off as quickly as possible. The tang of bitter seed and the rust of the girl's blood coat his throat like honey, make the slide easier as he sucks as hard as he can, letting Castiel use his mouth until the Leviathan growls, thrusting all the way inside, and comes down Dean's throat. The demon swallows it all, like the greedy bitch he is.

When Castiel is too soft to stay inside of Dean's mouth, the demon lets him go, panting softly and looking up at Castiel with bright, wet green eyes. The Leviathan knows what he is trying to do - trying to appeal to the nature he used to be - and he snarls, leaning down and fisting a hand in Dean's hair.

"You will never question what has to be done for me to survive again," he murmurs, eyes searching Dean's face, still burning that black-gold color. "And you will never touch what is mine without permission. Never." With that, he yanks hard, once, on Dean's head, and lets him go. "Now clean this mess up and find yourself a hole to crawl under. I have no use for your company tonight."

Dean swallows, nodding, his head dipping in submission when Castiel turns his eyes on him. Slowly, the gold fades away to light sky-blue as Dean works to clean up the remains of the dead girl, working his magic to remove all traces of her DNA and remains from the room. "Goodnight, Dean," he says somewhere in amidst Dean's work, and the demon gives a small sound. Castiel leaves.

"'Night, Cas," he says after the Leviathan exists the room, and blows out his breath and continues his task, swearing to himself to make it up to his companion when dawn arrives. He makes a round of the room, checking everything that could link her back here.

Before getting rid of the belongings she came with he looks through them, there is nothing of value in her purse; makeup, a mirror, a small bottle of perfume, and her wallet with a few twenties in it and her Identification Card. He grins as he reads the address. With this information he can make up for what he'd done tonight. Bringing that many people for Castiel would surely put him back in the Leviathan's favor - and how lovely it is when he is in Castiel's good graces. The house is not far either, across and just outside of town.

Homebred girl. Of course.

He gathers everything he needs in a duffle bag; rope, razor knifes, sharp and wickedly curved daggers, and on a whim he throws in some thin metal hooks. He decides to walk to the house after throwing on some clean clothes. It is just after midnight and the early winter air is crisp and windy. It whips his hair around - Castiel likes it when there is something to grab onto - and blows him faster down the sidewalks as he walks. Every dozen feet or so he walks under a street lamp, causing the lights to flicker and blink out at his presence, but other than the occasional passing car everything is quiet.

The house is not what he thought it would be; it is big, old, and at least two stories. The wood siding is faded and peeling, the yard needs to be cleaned and mowed. It is dark and he can't see everything from where he hides in the bushes, but it looks like they have old cars, motor parts, a swing set that has bent and fallen down the middle, and maybe the wreckage of an old boat. Even with his enhanced eyesight it is hard to make out some of the things in their yard, distorted and mangled as they are.

There are no lights on inside, and he sees no movement from the windows. In the driveway sits a Ford pickup truck and a station wagon. He pulls a knife free from his coat and makes his way quickly up to the side of the house. He creeps along the wall, avoiding bright spots and careful not to make too much noise. The side door is locked of course, but with a few seconds he has the lock worked open with his picks. He presses himself against the wall and shuts the door soundlessly.

Inside, he can smell the familiar stench of living, human souls. The air reeks of them and he can pick up at least three separate scents, although one of them seems old and stale. He stalks in, carefully adjusting the strap of his duffle over his shoulder, and carefully, quietly, prowls further in.

Heartbeats thud loudly upstairs and, again, he only counts two of them. Not as plentiful a hunt as he had hoped for, but still enough that Castiel may at least forgive his transgression earlier that night. Anything to make Castiel forgive him. The inside of the house is clean if a little barren, as though the people that live here do not necessarily spend a lot of time here. The lower floor is mostly open plan when he comes into it - a small partition separates the dining room and kitchen from the main living area, and the corridor he had entered from merely leads to the side door. He can see the front door from here, and in front of that door is the large staircase that leads to the upstairs.

Excellent.

He unhooks his duffle and places it gently on the floor, sliding out his favored 'hunting' knife, as well as a razor which he folds and slips into his jeans pocket, and loops some of the rope around his shoulder and forearm - rope, curled around the knuckles, makes an excellent weapon when there is nothing else. Though Dean is a demon, and a powerful one at that, there is something much more satisfying about making humans bleed the 'natural' way.

That done, he then takes off his boots, sock-clad feet making no noise as he goes to the staircase. There is a thick carpet at the bottom of it and Dean cocks his head to one side, frowning a little at it. It…looks strange. Out of place. Too expensive and luxurious to fit in with the otherwise barren house.

With a snarl, he kneels down and folds over the corner. The bright red edge of a Devil's Trap glares back at him.

Hunters.

Even better.

"Oh, baby, you're gonna be so proud," the demon whispers, grinning to himself as he tosses the carpet to one side, breaking the Devil's Trap and freeing him to go upstairs. His footsteps make no sound and he makes it to the third-to-last step before he senses something else that is wrong. But by then it is too late. He catches the trip-wire, cursing as a loud gunshot rings above his head a split second before pain explodes in his shoulder - the burning, saline smell lets him know that it was a salt round.

"Fuckers," he growls, clutching his burning shoulder, and turns to run back down the stairs. Another shot goes off and misses him, cracking the wooden stairs where he had just been standing. Without thinking he makes to head for the front door, reaching for the door handle.

Immediately his hand begins to burn and he recoils from it. Iron. Go fucking figure.

"Knew there was a fuckin' demon in town," comes a voice from behind him and Dean snarls low, turning in place, his eyes flashing black in fury. A man stands at the top of the stairs, sawed-off shot gun dangling carelessly from his right hand, and he smirks at Dean where the demon is finely trembling in pain.

"Nice trick with the trip-wire," Dean snaps, standing straight and forcing his hand to move away from his arm, flexing his fingers by his side lightly to make sure he keeps feeling in that arm. His shoulder burns but from as far as he can tell most of that pain is coming from the fact that it was a salt round, and not from any actual damage done to his meat suit. "Need to work on your aim, though."

"Eh, I think I did well enough," the Hunter replies, smirking as he walks down the stairs. Dean hears a loud clinking to his right - the corridor where he had come in - and finds another man bringing his duffle to the first.

"Got ourselves a real old school one, Harry," the second Hunter says, holding out some of the tools towards the first Hunter - Harry. Dean growls when the second Hunter touches his tools - bad move. Castiel will be able to smell him out from those. "Looked like it was planning a party."

Dean chuckles at the way the Hunters' lips curl up in disgust. "Two guys," he whispers, "alone in an old house. Sorry if I was interrupting something, boys."

Harry shakes his head. "Ignore him, Tom. Demons like to fuck with people."

"Only if you ask nicely," Dean purrs back, eyes flashing with black fire at the slightly scared look on the second Hunter's - Tom's - face. He is obviously younger than Harry - no older than Dean himself while Harry appears to be at least in his early fifties. New to the game, and an old geezer. Fantastic. The old one might not appeal to Cas but the younger one - fresh blood. Very appetizing. "I know what I like to do when I've got some quality time with my fellow man."

Harry grunts, turning flat grey eyes onto Dean. "Well, now your plan seems to have backfired." Dean snarls, taking a step forward, and halts when it seems like he meets resistance. Fuck. There's a fucking Devil's Trap right above him, isn't there?

He looks up. Yep. Carved right into the ceiling. How had he not seen that?

He was getting lazy. Castiel is going to _kill _him.

"Oh, you're not going anywhere, demon." Harry says sauntering forward; his head is tilted to the side and there is a smirk on his face. Dean's got a really bad feeling about this. God damn it, how could he be so _stupid_? He's no rookie, yet he got caught. Castiel is not going to be pleased…Dean smirks; Hell, he almost feels sorry for these humans. Because Castiel will track Dean here, and these men won't make it to see tomorrow night. Their blood will paint the walls and cover the floors when Castiel is done with them.

"Who said I was leaving?" Dean's smirk grows and he rolls his shoulder; it still stings but it is slowly healing. It might be healed right now, but with the salt in the wound it is going to heal slower than normal. "I came to finish up the party; the little lady's ID card said she lived here." This hunter, Harry, has seen a few fights it looks like. There is a long jagged scar down his right cheek trailing down to his neck, he is missing his pinky finger on his left hand, and it looks like he injured his leg at some point because he is limping on it slightly. "She tasted good too, like oranges and whiskey, with a hint of cinnamon." He takes a deep breath in and his mouth splits in to a wider grin that shows off too many white teeth. "Your boy over there," he jerks his head towards Tom, "smells like her. That same…sweet taste…" He licks his lips, grinning wide and flashing black eyes. "Only not as mouth-watering."

"You son of a bitch!" Tom starts to run for him, but Harry is there to hold him back. "Let me go, Uncle; I'm going to rip him limb from limb!" His face is a mask of fury, pain and rage, his fingers curled in to fists and his lip pulled up in a sneer. Dean just smiles at him and twirls his knife around in his hand.

"Yes, by all means Harry, let him go." Dean catches the scent of the younger hunter then and he laughs, it's a deep and slow sound that brings visible chills to the both men, Tom more so than Harry. He takes a deep, exaggerated breath. "God, your fear smells exactly the same." He draws another deep breath in and grins. "You're her brother I'm guessing."

Fury flashes in Tom's stormy eyes. The older Hunter shakes him to regain his attention. "…Tom, I've got some things I want to ask pretty boy demon here. You go get my tools and come straight back." Harry lets him go and Tom sulks for a moment before turning away. "You." He glares at Dean, causing the demon to smirk and wink at him. "What have you done to Tiffany?"

Dean flips the knife in to the air and catches it with practiced skill. "I didn't actually _do _anything to her, other than lick her sweet pussy. And it was sweet, she moaned like a good little whore, loved every minute of it. Until she became dinner, that is." He leaves out Castiel because he has already gotten himself into trouble. The last thing he needs is to tip them off about the Leviathan. If anything he could always lie and say Cas is a demon too. He'd get a kick out of all the traps that this stupid hunter would set to prepare for his arrival. Nothing he can do will stop Cas, not unless he knows how and Dean doubts that he does.

Harry's mouth twists. "Last time I checked demons don't eat people," he says, but there is a sourness in his scent that speaks of pain and Dean laughs - it is a low, dark sound, full of promise and pleasure and he smiles, lips curving up, eyes flashing.

"How could I resist?" he asks, tilting his head to one side, closing his eyes as he remembers her, remembers Castiel - how the Leviathan had looked, covered in her blood while Dean's nose and mouth had been filled with the scent and taste of her. He lets out a soft little moan. "When she smelled so good?"

It is then that Tom returns, carrying a bag similar to the one Dean had carried, back when he had been human. The demon smells Holy Water and salt inside and his nose wrinkles in distaste. "Hey, pretty boy," he purrs, lashes fluttering when Tom focuses hateful brown eyes on him. "I bet I could show you just as good a time. Your sister loved it, right to the end…" He lets his sentence trail off, tongue flicking out along his lower lip and watches as the boy swallows, breaking eye contact with the demon. "You smell like a virgin, boy," Dean continues, taking a step forward until he is standing right on the edge of the Devil's Trap. "I can help you take care of that. After all; no one should die a virgin."

Tom doesn't answer - Dean hadn't expected him to - as he kneels down in front of the bag of tools, opening the duffle and Dean tilts his head, curiously peeking inside. The usual things. He licks his lips again, snarling softly when Harry goes over to the duffle and takes out a long hook, like a shepherd's hook, and Dean knows from the way his skin starts to itch that it is made of iron. His eyes flash in warning and he tosses his head like an animal, taking a step back as Harry advances on him.

"Now now, pretty boy," Harry warns, as he reaches the hook forward, intent on catching around Dean's neck, and the demon snarls, parrying it with his own knife and it swings down and embeds itself in the ground. Damn it - he needs to break the ceiling, not the Goddamn floor.

"That all you got?" he challenges, arms spreading wide to his sides, a defiant sneer on his face. A voice - small and scared - makes its way to him and Dean snarls again, hissing in pain as the words of the Exorcism start to flow into his body. He coughs, clutching at his chest and turns hateful eyes onto Tom, who is holding a book and reading the Exorcism quickly.

Harry takes advantage of his distraction - he gets the hook around Dean's neck and the demon cries out in pain, dropping to his knees, as the Exorcism stops, leaving him coughing and writhing against the burning sensation on his neck. Feels like the damned thing's encrusted with salt, too.

"You little _brat_," he growls, nostrils flared wide as he tries to breathe through the pain. "I'll fucking skin you alive and I'll make it slow - your sister's death will be _nothing_ compared to what I'm gonna do to you."

"Yeah, yeah, quit your yappin'," Harry grunts, stepping down on the iron rod and forcing Dean low to the ground. "You got the brand?"

"Right here." Dean hears footsteps and the _sching_ of something metal scraping against a wall. "I'll go heat it up."

"Good." Dean hisses slightly when the hook around his neck is jerked as the man steps forward, and he tries lashing out with his knife, but Harry catches his wrist and twists it, forcing him to let go when the nerve is pinched and his stupid, weakened human body is forced to let go. It clatters to the floor and Harry kicks it away.

The hook around his neck shifts and Dean groans when he is pulled up a little, Harry stepping into the Devil's Trap and straddling his lower back. "You kinky fucker," he gasps out, his throat raw and reddened from the iron as he swallows. "If you wanted it so bad you could have just asked."

"Shut up, demon," the Hunter replies, his free hand patting Dean down and the demon's mouth twists in dissatisfaction when he finds the razor blade and tosses it away too. "Tom's gonna come back and help me trap you inside your meat suit, and then you and I are gonna have a little talk."

"On my knees? At least buy me dinner first," Dean snaps, gritting his teeth when the hook's hold just tightens. He feels like a dog on a fucking choke chain and it makes the Hellfire nature flare up at him, angry and defiant that something so weak is able to control him - Harry's touch does not have Castiel's power behind it and it's _wrong_ and it fucking _feels wrong_.

"Seems like you already had dinner," the Hunter quips back, almost unfeeling - he would be convincing if Dean couldn't feel the anger burning in the Hunter's blood. With a little bit of time on his hands he could twist this son of a bitch into anything.

"Oh, you're so gonna regret this," he purrs, grinning and clenching his jaw in pain when Harry stands up again, jerking him to his feet with the iron rod and hook. Tom has already returned, the end of the brand glowing white-hot and Dean hisses in defiance, black eyes flashing. "Go on, make it good, baby."

Tom's mouth twists in hatred - Dean could make him into a real beauty too - and he thrusts his hand forward, forcing the brand against Dean's jaw. It burns - of course it does - like a motherfucker but Dean has known Hellfire and he snarls, gritting his teeth against the sensation, feeling himself become locked into the meat suit as the brand sears itself into the corner of his jaw. He cannot jerk away because of the hook around his neck, and his fingers flex at his sides, unwilling to burn them on the iron rods.

Tom lets the brand linger too long and finally pulls away, grinning in bitter, sadistic satisfaction, and Dean's eyes flutter open as he pants. "Was it as good for you as it was for me?" he asks, smirking, just to watch Tom's eyes flash. Oh, how he loves pissing humans off.

Tom doesn't say anything to him though. He just glares at Dean with a look of disgust on his face, then walks over to the duffle bag and picks up some holy water. Dean grins at him and blows him a kiss. "I thought so." The hook still burns against his skin, ripping it when he moves his head. Harry remains sneering at him, not saying anything for the moment. Dean blows him a kiss and the older man kicks at his shin. "Touchy." He smirks, licking his lips.

He watches Tom pour the Holy Water over the end of the poker, and then he walks back over to him and presses the end against his arm. "I hate to waste perfectly good Holy Water," Tom drawls, and Dean grits his teeth through the burning. Holy Water stings, sure, but it's not as effective on him as it would be a lower demon. "Oh, you're one of the stronger ones, good." Tom smirks at him and pulls the poker away, dropping it to the ground with a clatter.

Dean looks him over again, making a soft humming noise. "How about you let me out of here, I know things that this bag of bones can't even begin to teach you. " He jerks his head in the older man's direction and smirks.

"Don't you talk to him you piece of trash," Harry snarls and jerks the hook causing Dean to growl and look back over to him. "You haven't seen anything yet boy. I've got plans for you, we haven't even started yet." He speaks to Tom without breaking his stare with Dean. "Bring it here."

"Oh a surprise, I love surprises," Dean purrs and gives him a lustful look. He hisses when Harry shoves him to the floor again. Then he see's what Tom is bringing over. "_Oh_…Holy Wood…_perfect. _I like the burn."

"You've got a smart ass answer for everything, don't you demon." Harry nods at Tom as the boy moves closer. His whole body is stiff; he looks like he might lose his nerve soon. Dean watches as he steps up closer and grins as he reaches out to trail a hand up his leg.

"Remember my offer, boy; I was serious. I can make you great, better than he ever could." Dean trails his hand up towards the other man's groin, smiling when it's batted away.

"Fuck off, freak," Tom snarls hatefully, then leans down and plunges the wood into Dean's body. His face twists in to a hateful sneer and he twists the wood slightly.

Dean snarls loudly as the wood twists in to him, it burns his flesh and cracks his ribs, just shy of missing his heart. Not that piercing his heart would matter, but it would hurt like a bitch. He feels his blood leaking out on the floor and soaking in to his clothing. His flesh sizzles around the wood and he grins, spitting some blood on to Tom's shoe. "Ungrateful prick." He struggles against the Wood's hold but he knows he won't be able to move now. He hadn't seen that in their bag of tricks, maybe these Hunters aren't as dumb as he first thought.

Tom lets go of the stake, panting slightly as Dean grimaces, fighting the urge to curl up on himself. The scent of his blood is heavy in the air and he knows it will drive Castiel half-insane with anger. The thought alone makes him laugh - it is a rough laugh, blood welling up in his throat as he spits it out onto the ground, licking his lips and smearing it on his chin. "_Fuck_."

"Now that you seem to understand the situation," Harry chooses to say at that moment, jerking the choke-hook and forcing Dean to his hands and knees on the floor, his blood dripping slowly onto the floor and soaking through his shirt and jeans. "We've got some questions we want answerin'."

"Ask," Dean bites out, pain making him terse as his eyes flash. His smirk this time is more of a sneer than anything else. "I got all fuckin' night."

"What do you know about the Leviathan?"

The question makes Dean go tense for a split second, before he forces himself to relax and pretend like the name doesn't affect him - doesn't make want burn low in his gut and a vicious pride curl around the base of his skull - _he_ did that. _He _did. He bares his teeth and spits another wad of blood and saliva onto the floor. "That your local softball team, boys? Not really a betting man but I could try my hand at it."

"Cute." Harry takes a step forward, holding the iron rod taut, and kicks at the stake still lodged deep in Dean's chest cavity, making the demon curse, his shoulders hunching in defence, fingers curling into the wooden floor. Hissing, Dean wraps one hand around the shaft of wood and yanks, ignoring how his fingertips begin to sizzle and burn at the touch of Grace against the wood, and flings it to the ground. His eyes flash Hellfire-black and malevolent. "Now answer properly."

"If I knew," Dean spits, malice flashing as he curls his lips back at the Hunters, "you think I would tell you worthless sacks of meat?"

"Tom." The harsh snap of his name is apparently all the order the bitch-boy needs to bring the iron brand - still glowing a dull red - down hard on Dean's back, breaking open skin as the demon howls in pain, growling low like a caged animal as he snarls, a feral hunger gleaming, power making the room shake despite the grip of the Devil's Trap around him.

"I'll tell you this," Dean grits out, writhing as he tries to escape the clutches of the iron hook around his neck, his fingers working in and digging to try and yank the damned thing apart but all it gets him is singed and bloody flesh. He kneels up and snarls in defiance. "If you ever meet one, you better fuckin' pray that all they wanna do is eat you." He smiles wide, flashing too many bloodied teeth, when he smells the spike of fear in the room. "They'll fuckin' skin you alive, make you watch as they eat your fingers, your toes and your legs. They can keep you alive 'til the last possible second - will consume and destroy and make the plague of locusts look like a fuckin' _fairy tale_, you worthless little _bitch_."

He laughs, then - a full out laugh, raw from his messed-up throat, and he chokes on his own blood, hacking up more of the liquid as it rises more quickly to the surface. "You're gonna fucking regret this," he howls, almost cackling, his cough turning hacking and violent. "By the end you're gonna be down on your knees and you will _beg_, beg like a fuckin' _dog_."

"Enough of this," Harry mutters, rolling his eyes as he looks towards Tom. "He's not going to give us anything. Exorcise him."

"You'll fuckin' beg," Dean mutters again, grinning wide as Harry steps close and slashes the raw, peeling brand on his jaw. Dean feels his essence unlock from his body just as Tom begins to recite the Exorcism again. He laughs - loud and long around his coughs, clutching at his throat as his demon soul is forced up through his meat suit's mouth.

_"Te rogamus, audi nos."_

"If you think I'm bad," Dean whispers, as the final words of the Exorcism being to reverberate in his very soul.

_"Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae humiliare digneris, te rogamus…"_

_"_Just wait 'til you meet _him_."

_"Audi nos."_

Dean laughs once more, lips curving up, one side higher than the other, before he throws his head back and is forced out of his meat suit with a scream that he knows, if he is close, Castiel will hear. The Devil's Trap is designed to hold in the human form and so as his soul Dean is free to escape, and he does, disappearing out of the meat suit and through an open window in one of the bedrooms. There is no choice for his destination - Dean feels the eyes of Hell hounds, intent on chasing him back home, on his soul ready to attack should he try and escape to anywhere else.

Shame. He'd grown rather fond of Earth.

Dean makes sure to pass by Castiel's hotel room on his way back to the Devil's Gate. Looks like he found his mate a Hunt after all.

* * *

><p><em>"Baby. Hey, sweetheart. Wake up. Rise and shine."<em>

Castiel stirs from his sleep when he feels a familiar presence curling around the edges of his consciousness, only…it feels off and it does not linger long. With a sigh he flings the covers from the warm bed and swings his feet out of it. He has gotten enough sleep anyway; time to see what it is that Dean's up to. He knows that presence was him, trying to get Castiel's attention. He gives a yawn as he stands and stretches, teeth flashing long in his mouth. The bones in his vessel's back pop and he gives a satisfied sigh, scratching at his naked belly and shaking off the sleep still fogging his brain.

He goes over to his bag in the corner, pulling some fresh clothes from it and tugging them on. He knows they'll have to leave soon; they can't risk staying in one place too long. Hunters get smart, and for all he knows one could be on their trail right now. It's not that he can't handle them, he can very easily. Castiel just hates being disturbed; nothing pisses him off more than being caught in the middle of something. He packs up the rest of his stuff and brings it to Dean's car to put it up in the trunk. He uses his spare key to open the hatch and put the bag inside.

When he's got all of their things put away he stops and takes in a breath of air smelling his demon scent lingering lightly, Dean's been outside. He furrows his brows in confusion, why would Dean go outside, when Castiel had given him no permission to do such a thing? He shrugs if off, making a note to reprimand the demon for that later - his pretty demon's been so _uppity_ lately - and heads towards the room he'd left Dean in as punishment. He'd been looking forward to bringing the demon to his bed that night, but Dean had proven that he did not deserve it this time. Hopefully he's learned his lesson. Cas hates hurting the demon to punish him - he'd rather that be saved for the bedroom, when Dean can really scream.

He slides the key in to the lock and turns it, hearing a metallic click as he does. When he pushes open the door he finds the room empty of anything that he would have thought would be there. Nothing is left of the girl, like she hadn't been there in the first place - however Castiel knows that Dean has begun getting more creative with his magic and could have hidden her anywhere. He feels a brief surge of pride at that. The room smells of Dean, whiskey, leather, and gun powder, with a hint of sulfur. But Dean's not here. He looks in the bathroom as well but there is no sign of him.

He growls long and low, sniffing at the air again and noticing now that the smell leaves but does not come back. "Stupid fucking demon, I'd better not have to bust you out of something again." He makes sure that this room is clean of belongings too, and then moves the car to an empty parking lot a few blocks down, just in case.

He does not even stop to get any tools: he does not need them. He just takes off after the smell, Dean's familiar scent burning in his nose, after circling back around to the seedy rent by the hour motel. Dean's scent is leading into town, and it gets weaker as he moves farther from the motel but he's still able to follow it. Mild panic rises in him when he remembers feeling Dean's presence when he woke up. If the smell of his body did not come back, that would mean he had to abandon his meat suit, for whatever reason. Could that mean that he'd been sent back to Hell? If he has, whoever did it is going to pay. He feels his anger rising and his mouth watering at the thought of slowly picking apart the fuckers who hurt what is and always will be _his property_.

He moves faster, the buildings getting thinner the farther he goes. Dean's smell leads him to an old house on the other side of town. It looks like it is in need of some repairs and some yard work. The place reeks of hunters, and Castiel is not happy. They have to know that he is coming; Dean would have told them that he'd be avenged. If these fuckers hurt Dean like he thinks they have, they are in for a long night. A long and very painful night - and it is a good thing that being pissed off makes him hungry.

Castiel's lip curls back in a grim mockery of a smile as he strides up the front pathway towards the door - he does not bother with sneaking around and hiding. That is a coward's job - the act of the mortal. The door is pitifully weak, although he sees that it has been embedded with iron and salt around the frame, and it cracks under his touch, flying inwards.

Startled shouts accompany his arrival and Castiel's smile grows.

Hunters. Two of them.

Time to play a game.

He lifts his head and his nostrils flare, and he feels his form rippling, contorting as he changes shape. He lifts his hands in front of him to watch - his fingers slim down, shedding the thicker bones for a more dainty frame. His hair grows longer and his vision darkens as his irises turn flat black before lightening to brown. His skin darkens and he feels his features change, become more delicate and feminine.

Castiel grins, black saliva oozing up around his teeth, and he quickly sheds at his clothes, keeping the trench coat largely intact. He feels, absently, his vision blurring as tears start running down his face, smearing make-up, and by the time two men round the corner to look at who or what has busted down their door, they see Tiffany - teary-eyed, bleeding, clutching desperately at the remnants of a well-worn and dirty trench coat - standing in the foyer.

"…Tiff?" one of them - younger, more afraid, with his eyes wide and smelling of burning sulfur - says. Castiel barely disguises his snarl and blinks at him with pretty, scared brown eyes. She takes a step forward, staggering, and falls to her knees.

"I…"

"We thought you were dead, sweetheart," the older one says, cautiously shifting his gun in his grip. "You'll forgive us, hun, but…Christo." That doesn't work - of course it doesn't. Even if Castiel hadn't already passed through the Devil's Trap. It is a stupid test.

"Demons lie," she replies, voice watery as she feels at her throat. "I think they thought I was dead. They…" She shakes her head, another sob wrenched from her chest as she cries, and the two men advance slowly towards her, down the stairs. "I'm me!" Castiel shouts plaintively, watching how the younger one's eyes fill with pain. He must be very close to his…

Castiel takes a whiff of the air. Sister.

"Please," she whispers, holding her hand out towards the brother, and of course he reaches forward to take her hand - of course he does, because he is a sibling and that is what a sibling would do. The 'Tom, no!' comes too late. Stupid boy. With a swift yank and tug Castiel has his wrist snapped and snarls when he yells, falling to one knee in front of her. "Which of you is the little bitch who sent him back?" she demands, eyes flashing in a frightening, powerful mix of gold and black.

There is the sound of a gunshot and Castiel's shoulder gets jerked back. The slick feeling of black blood oozes from a gun-shot wound in her shoulder and the Leviathan turns her head, snarling and fixing dark eyes on the older Hunter.

"You," she growls, throwing the younger Hunter - Tom - away and getting to her feet, the trench coat falling away as she stops clutching at it. The Hunter has his weapon raised again but Castiel steps to him, reaches for it, shatters it in her grip with another low growl. "You _reek_ of him."

"Harry!" Tom's gotten back up, holding a knife in his hand - where did he get that? Castiel growls at the younger man, yanking Harry closer to her. Her jaw starts to split and crack, unhinging, and teeth flash, large and serrated and threatening, in her mouth. It is enough to halt the Hunter and make Tom's face go pale.

"I don't think so," Castiel hisses, turning Harry around and forcing the Hunter against her chest. "You and I are gonna have a little talk." Her voice drops to a low, seductive purr, eyes half-lidded as she noses at the soft, vulnerable line of the older man's throat. Her long snake-like tongue licks out, curling around his neck. He tastes like elderflower.

So sweet.

"Don't hurt him," Tom begs, laying down his weapon and Castiel senses more than hears Harry's grunt of exasperation, seeing how easily his partner and family member - there is a relation there though Castiel can't quite figure out what it is - has given up.

"Don't reprimand the boy," Castiel chides, shoving Harry forward. He picks up the gun and plants it in the small of Harry's back, making sure to keep close so the gun is not dislodged. "He's being smart. Being cooperative." A flash of a smile, then, pretty and affectionate enough to make the Hunter swallow and avert his eyes in shame. "I like cooperation."

"I'll do whatever you ask, just don't hurt him, please!" Tom begs limping forward. There is a stain of blood on his now torn jeans, though Castiel does not know or care how he'd hurt his leg when he was thrown out of the way.

Instead she snarls, whirling on the boy. "You dare ask me not to hurt him? _You_! The one who sent _my_ demon back to hell!" Castiel's eyes flash black and gold again, and she snarls loudly, little flecks of black spit hitting the back of the older man's neck. "I'll do whatever I damn well please to the both of you, and you're entirely too powerless to stop me." She stops and takes a deep breath, though it does nothing to help calm her anger, not that she wants it to. "I want you to take that rope over there and tie his hands behind his back for me old man." Castiel follows the older Hunter to the table, gun still pointed at his back. When the man takes his time grabbing the rope Castiel kicks the back of his knee, sending him sprawling to the ground. "I did mean this century."

"Just do it, Uncle," Tom says, holding his hands behind his back. Castiel smirks when the other man nods - his uncle it appears - and watches him get off the ground and pick the rope up. Castiel follows him over to his nephew; gun still pointed, and observes him tying the younger man's wrists together. When he is done Castiel checks the tightness of the rope and the knot, nodding when she finds it to her satisfaction.

"You stay right there pretty boy, I'll get to you in a minute," Castiel says to Tom as she lowers the barrel of the gun to the floor, and then grabs the man by the hair dragging him around so that his nephew will be able to see his fate. She drops the gun to the floor and kicks it across the room, grinning when Tom's eyes follow the movement of it. She has plans to switch back to her own body, but first she wants the boy to watch as what looks like his sister swallows their uncle whole.

Her jaw unhinges again, her true mouth opening wide as her tongue snakes out and flicks across the older man's neck. That's the only warning he gets before Castiel picks him up with unnatural strength, and holds him upside down above her head. She lowers the man slowly and bites down when his head rests in Castiel's mouth. Her strong jaws and sharp teeth crunch through bone as she swallows the head and looks over to the boy who is still watching.

Red blood runs down her borrowed form, staining Tiffany's skin and pooling in the delicate curves of her body as Castiel snarls at the boy, then starts to swallow the old man's body whole, barely chewing at all - she isn't even that hungry after her meal earlier but relishes the horrified, frozen look on Tom's face. He can't look away. She sighs and pats her belly, fixing her eyes on Tom again. Tom cries out loudly, falling to his knees and sobbing as tears and snot roll down his face. Castiel rights her mouth with a click, shoving a blood-soaked hand to the corner of her jaw until it hinges back into place, and shudders as her form ripples again, slowly changing back to normal - his vision starts to clear and his hair falls back to its normal length, matted with blood and sticking up at all ends. "He tasted pretty good for an old man." The boy seems to crumble at that, his head hanging down almost so that his forehead is pressed to the hard wood floor. He is crying, trying to remain strong but it is no use - sobs and cries come from his mouth, the only thing Castiel understands is the word 'alone'.

Castiel cocks his head to one side, padding on silent feet over to the young man. He makes a quiet shushing sound, like a mother to her crying child, and kneels down, lightly taking Tom's shoulders and pushing him up so their eyes can meet. "Hush now, little one," he whispers, his eyes glowing a dull gold with a thick ring of black merging with his snake-eye pupils. He smiles too widely, baring bloody teeth. "Yes, you are alone, but not for much longer."

Tom swallows, his wide eyes locked with the hypnotic, abyssal eyes of the Leviathan. Castiel smiles again, leaning close, one hand carding through Tom's hair with uncharacteristic gentleness as his eyes go half-lidded, voice low and coaxing; soothing - "There we go. Much better."

"What…" Tom coughs, swallows, and clears his throat. "What are you going to do to me?"

"I just want you to answer one question," Castiel says, his voice still soft and lulling, his smile softening around the edges into something affectionate and loving. "Were you the one who exorcized Dean, sweetheart? I need to know." Hesitation. A dead giveaway. Castiel's eyes flash. "Answer me honestly, Tom."

The hiss is either unnoticed or too low for the weaker human ear to hear, because Tom, although afraid, does not flinch from the sound. He closes his eyes and swallows again, pressing his lips together. The slight nod of his head is all the answer Castiel needs and suddenly he stands, kicking at the boy, knocking him over on to his back. His forehead trickles with blood from the strike. "You little _bitch," _Castiel snarls, eyes flashing again. _"_You're going to wish you'd been smarter than to be the one to kill him. Your uncle's death will be a _mercy_ compared to what I'm about to do to you."

Tom's eyes go wide, and he struggles backwards, trying to get away, but Castiel waves a hand, accessing what tiny, feeble part of his Grace still lingers from the time _before, _and Tom is immobilized, held down easily by the Leviathan's power. "I'm going to eat you from your feet up," he whispers, voice low and certain - it is not a threat. Merely fact. "I'll keep you alive until the last possible second; you'll feel every snap and crack of your bones until I finally finish you off."

Tom's body is shaking with fear and his eyes blood shot from crying, he looks up at the Leviathan with sad, frightened eyes.

"Why?"

Castiel smiles at him, then gracefully lowers himself to the floor, crawling through blood until he kneels over the human's prone form. "Because I want you to know why I'm so angry, pretty boy. I want you to understand why people don't fuck with what's mine."

Tom shudders, his fingers flexing by his sides to try and fight back, but Castiel's power is absolute. "What _are_ you?" he asks, and Castiel cocks his head to one side, before he leans down, his mouth opening wide and spreading damp over the leg of Tom's jeans through his shin, just below his knee.

He growls in pleasure, smelling sweat and fear like a heavy dank in the air - like stale blood and cold meat - and bites down, his teeth sharpening and sinking easily through the thick flesh of calf muscle and piercing Tom's bones like a needle through skin. The Hunter screams in pain, his throat hoarse and raw already from crying, thrashing around as much as he can with Castiel's power holding him down, and the Leviathan throws a hand on, lands it on his sternum, pressing down too hard over the human's rapidly-beating heart as the scent of that elderflower and cinnamon blood floods his mouth.

He pulls away with a low growl, licking his lips obscenely like a porn star who's just gotten a facial, long tongue easily lapping up the blood on his lips and chin.

Castiel's gold-black eyes flash to the panting human - Tom has his lips pressed together and is trying not to make a sound, but his cheeks are wet with fresh tears and shine in the low light of the streetlight and the light from upstairs in the hallway. He leans close, still kneeling between the human's spread legs, his hands braced with almost amorous affection as he spreads his fingers wide across Tom's heaving flanks, and leans down and kisses him. Kisses him slow, and deep, forked tongue snaking easily between the human's panting mouth and forcing Tom to share their tastes together. The slick of tears and blood lets their lips slide together easily and Tom whimpers, makes a disgusted sound, and tries to get away.

The Leviathan laughs when he pulls away, cupping Tom's cheek, and presses a kiss to his forehead. "Sweetheart, I'm nothing you've ever seen before." Tom opens his mouth to reply but Castiel grins wide, shushes him with a finger to his lips. "Hush now. No more words. Just…" He looks down, kneels up, his smile growing sharper. "React."

Tom screams, loud and long, when Castiel sinks his teeth into the human's soft flesh at his side, biting down harsh into his intestines. The meat is soft, gives easily under his bite and he rips, bites, clenches his jaw down until there is no space between his teeth and yanks back, swallowing down Tom's blood and flesh, eyes closing as the human's whimpers and cries wash over him like a refreshing rain.

"Please! Please, stop!"

Castiel's eyes flash up and he snarls, leaning down again and snapping his jaws against his thigh, severing the pathetic, flimsy barrier between his mouth and the artery beneath. He swallows the spurts of blood flowing down his throat – it tastes so sweet, so bitter-sour-sweet, and he swallows like he's dying, drowning in it. The human's cries are getting softer and softer but he can't bring himself to care – instinct, desire, the need to feed is overwhelming and he wishes Dean was with him, could share in this glorious kill with him and be there, that eager little hole he fucks when he's done.

The thought of Dean – of that Cheshire cat smile and that beautiful, deadly face and his innocent green eyes sliding to black – makes Castiel roar again in anger, kneeling and hauling Tom up to a sitting position. The Hunter is weakly crushing his hand to his side, trying desperately to stop the flow of blood onto the pretty wooden floor. Castiel kisses him again, makes the human taste the blood and organs and bile in his mouth. "You sent him away," he growls, voice almost too low to hear, anger vibrating right into the walls. "He was _mine_ and you sent him away."

"He's a demon!" the human snaps back, gritting his teeth in pain, tears shining in his eyes and running still down his cheeks. Castiel cocks his head to one side, bird-like, and regards the human coolly. Sensing the change, the withdrawal of the Leviathan's mindless hunger, Tom sits forward and hisses; "A stain on the Earth. I hope he rots in Hell."

Castiel snarls again, shoving Tom back down and winding him when he lands. He bites at his throat, ripping through tendons and the crunchy trachea until Tom's breathing stops and his heartbeat slows to a steady, slow thrum, and then stops altogether. The Leviathan continues to eat, consuming Tom completely without any method – his anger has made him lose his finesse but it's not like anyone is left alive to care, if they find Tom's body at all. By the time he is finished, there is nothing left aside from the shredded remains of Tom's clothes and stray bits of scalp and hair.

Covered in blood, Castiel finally stands, licking what is left of the sweet elderflower essence off of his fingertips.

"Divine," he murmurs, to no-one in particular, and looks around the entry room. He catches a little of Dean's scent amongst the blood and finds the demon's knife and some of his tools still in a duffle bag, discarded at the foot of the stairs. Good. Dean would kill him if he lost those. He stands once more, reminding himself to retrieve those tools when he is finished.

But for now, he has a demon to track down. Castiel finds the pieces of his clothing and pulls them on, he sneers at what remains of the humans as he shrugs on his blood stained trench coat, and then follows Dean's scent past the duffle bag and back to the demon trap at the front of the house. He snarls as he regards the mess on the floor. It's disgusting and reeks of Dean's singed flesh, and the idea that they didn't clean up lends him to think that they were either careless or too brash, intending to taunt him with his mate's death.

Blood still pools and gathers in the rug, and the holy wood stake lays discarded on the floor. He lifts an eyebrow upon seeing it and picks it up. Holy wood is hard to find and that might come in handy some day, so he tosses that in to Dean's bag as well. Out of pure anger and nothing else, he snarls, crouches down with one hand resting on the floor, and Castiel jumps in to the air on powerful legs, with one fist outstretched to the ceiling. When his fist makes contact with the ceiling the trap cracks in two. Plaster rains down around him and a cold smile curls at his lips as his feet land back on to the ground with a low thud. Castiel takes in a deep breath, letting Dean's fading scent fill his nose. He knows of a near by gateway to the pit, Dean probably went that way.

He is about to leave when he catches another trail, the smell of Dean's body. He turns and follows the smell out the back door and in to the yard. The grass is so overgrown it's up past his knees in some parts; the higher brush comes up to his shoulders. His mouth curls in to a sneer as small animals scurry away, mostly rabbits and field mice. He pays them no mind; most animals are smart enough to know to run away from him What is not smart enough becomes food.

Enraged, a hunch forming in his mind as to what he might find in the garden, he follows the fresh trail, pushing branches out of his way and stomping through patches of thorn vines to a clearing of some sorts, and right away he knows what it is for. In the middle is a stack of wood and a body on top, wrapped in a sheet. Those stupid humans were going to burn his demon's body; it looks like he interrupted them, because the funeral pyre is not lit yet.

Castiel blinks and presses his lips together, his eyes dulling from the enraged golden color they had taken on, and his eyes soften just slightly as he walks up to the sheet covered form and runs his fingertips over it softly, his fingertips shaking just slightly. He is showing his weakness and he knows it, but no one is around to see. If Castiel had a weakness left it would be this demon; nothing else matters to him anymore except for Dean. He unwraps the sheet from Dean's face, upper lip curling back when he just catches sight of the burn on his neck, and smoothes a hand down his cold cheek as he leans down to whisper in to the demon's ear. "I'm coming for you, baby; just hold on a little longer. Not even the gates of Hell can keep me from getting you back." Then, he sighs softly, closing his eyes, and turns his head to press a kiss to Dean's still mouth.

When he leans back up his face is once again a cold mask of fury and his eyes flash black and gold. He lifts Dean's body free of the stack of wood and holds him tight to his chest as he takes off for the Impala. He'll leave Dean's tools behind, but there is no way his body is going to stay out in the open with no protection. Castiel runs back the way he came as fast as he can, stopping only when he gets back to the Impala. He opens the trunk and lays Dean's body inside carefully. He knows that Dean won't be happy to wake up in his trunk, but the Leviathan figures it's better than waking up on a funeral pyre. In the trunk no one will come along his body either, that's the main reason why Castiel places it there. A human stumbling upon Dean lying dead in the back seat of the Impala, wrapped in a blood stained sheet, would just throw them another problem.

He closes the trunk softly with one last glance at Dean wrapped in the white sheet, hand resting just a second too long on the sleek car, before he takes off in the direction of the gateway.

* * *

><p>Dante was half-right in conceiving the geography of Hell. It is not a palace, or a wide-open plain of fire and brimstone. It is not an obstacle course or labyrinth or the dark 'back door' of a club that does almost nothing to muffle the sounds of activities inside.<p>

Hell – or at least the part of Hell that demons live in – is an arena.

Demons like to keep an eye on each other, and the arena allows them to be in full view at all times until they leave to go to the human quarters of Hell. Some demons arrive with fanfare – strong ones, powerful ones and downright boastful ones that can get away with that sort of thing. Others slink in an out unnoticed like a bad smell.

Whenever the fallen Righteous Man appears in Hell, it is always cause for a…celebration.

Dean snarls, crouching low when dozens of pairs of black and red and white eyes turn on him. He can feel their lust; taste their desire like sour bile in the back of his throat. His chin is raised in defiance, black filter lowered in threat. Dean usually prefers to mimic his human body when in Hell – he is not like his brethren, to take on the form of their more animalistic sides – but sometimes he slips up. The threatening rattle of a snake echoes from his mouth as he glares at all of them, warning them away.

"Winchester," one of them says – a towering male with wickedly curved ram's horns spiking from above his eyes, and teeth like a lion and goat legs. His torso is muscled and hairy and a thick cock dangles between his legs, the demon not caring for his nudity or exposure. The demon smiles wide – too wide, and there is ooze at the black edges of his mouth – "So kind of you to join us again. Did the Serpent wear his bitch out and get tired?"

There is a laugh by Dean's side and the demon hisses again, snake-like fangs flashing briefly in his mouth as he turns, straightens, to see a woman regarding him with cool reddened eyes. Her hair is long, going well past her shoulders and waist to pool around her knees, and Dean knows that the locks will be greasy and filthy, not at all luxurious and thick as they look, and hiding beetles and locusts and spiders and all other kinds of _filth_. She smiles with shark teeth and puts a finger to her lips, her nails wickedly long and curved like an eagle's claw. "Such a pity to waste an ass as pretty as yours," she says, stepping towards Dean, her bare body pressing up tight to the Hunter. Dean shudders, growling and turning his head towards her when she leans against him, pressing her burning lips to his shoulder, so that his throat is not exposed. "I bet I could give you a better ride, Winchester."

Dean's eyes flash and he fists a hand in her hair, yanking her head back hard enough to snap her neck. It won't kill her – demons can't kill each other in Hell unless they are incredibly powerful – but it is enough of a deterrent when he sinks his serrated teeth into her neck and rips her throat out, letting her momentarily limp body crumble to the floor.

"Don't fuckin' touch me," he snaps at the demons, who have pressed closer, incensed by how close she had gotten. His shoulder burns and he itches for his blade, but it is up on Earth in the human land and he can't get there from here. Not until either a gateway is opened or he manages to find a ritual taking place and ride it out.

"Bitch has such a _bite_ on him, doesn't he?" the first demon purrs, his eyes practically gleaming with lust and Dean takes a step back. "I think it's time for the bitch to run."

The Hunter snarls. There are several of them openly advancing on him, the rest hovering around the edges of his vision, closing in, and he shudders to think of what will happen if they catch and subdue him. Castiel will never touch him again if he takes it for a demon. Too dirty, he'd say.

"You know what you gotta do, pretty boy."

He does.

"Run."

* * *

><p>Castiel does not like Hell. He didn't like it when he first flew in – back when he was still an Angel – to rescue Dean and he doesn't like it now. It's loud, and it reeks of death and fear and hopelessness, and not even the darker side of him can enjoy that knowing that <em>his <em>demon is waist-deep in this steaming pile of shit that is a Hellhole.

The doors to Hell had crumbled under his touch, the metal buckling as though made of paper when he'd slammed his open palm against it and shouted "Aperio!" – _Open. _He has no time for screwing around – Dean is in Hell, _in Hell, _and away from where Castiel can protect him and keep him in line. If Dean is not with _him _then that means he is with _other people_ and that has always been something Castiel had trouble accepting.

Hell is too warm for him – within a step his vessel is sweating, his clothes too sticky and hot within the dank air that had made it so hard to fly – there is no wind in Hell. And so Castiel curls his upper lip back in a frustrated snarl and strips his clothes away from his body – already the pale skin is flushed and burning from touching the humid air, and his feet blister and crack where he is standing on the volcanic floor.

He opens his mouth wide, as though preparing to feed, and tips his head back. Out of his mouth the Leviathan rises – a thick serpent with glowing golden eyes, oozing black from its lithe, slick and black body. It arches its head, opening its eyes as the body of the great sea snake falls from its vessel's mouth and Castiel the Human crumples to the floor. The Leviathan leans down, tonguing at the empty body and picks it up gingerly between its jaws, setting the body out of the way of the fiery rock. Black ooze like oil drips down from its mouth and head and it hisses, roaring as it turns its head back and begins to descent into Hell, brimstone cracking under its great scaly hide.

Large nostrils flare wide when it reaches a crossroads and the creature hisses, baring its teeth in a snarl, and roars again. The very foundations of Hell tremble underneath the power of that call, and it slithers faster, desperate to find the creature that had freed it and held such allure for the body it wore. The Leviathan's eyes glowed in the black chasm of Hell and finally it came upon an open arena. Demons were gathered inside the circle, and they scattered with chitters and yells and screams as it approached.

The Leviathan's head rose up high, the great serpent roaring once again to silence the demons, its strong tail whipping at the exits to stop them leaving. _Silence, filth, _it commanded in a voice that was older than humanity had ever been, older than anything the demons had known, and they stilled. _Where is Dean Winchester? _

The silence is deafening and the Leviathan hisses again, membrane ruffles flaring up around its head in a threatening display, and it roars once more, shaking the foundations of the arena and creating a large crack in the floor, Hell quivering around the presence of such an old and powerful creature.

_I will not ask again! Where is Dean Winchester?_

One of the demons – a woman with raven black hair and red eyes – hisses, "We're hunting that little bitch down."

The Leviathan blinks, lowering its great head to peer at the insignificant demon, before its maw opens wide and it swallows her whole, as the demons begin to panic and scatter.

A hunt, eh? Well, it can hunt too.

The serpent returns to its body and slithers back into Castiel's mouth, reanimating the creature as Castiel's eyes flare open, brilliant and blue. The Leviathan had found Dean's scent – now it needs Castiel's wings.

He sits up, snarling softly, and takes wing.

* * *

><p>Dean presses himself tight to the burning wall of one of the older corridors of Hell, breathing deep and slow and as quietly as he can as he feels a demon slink past him, scorpion tail poised up high above its head and moving with the small skittering of millions of bugs. Dean lets his eyes go half-lidded, leaning his head back against the wall, and sucks in a breath at the burning heat that is blistering his skin against the wall. Goddamn but it hurts. But he can't expose himself – this tunnel is a dead-end and so he will have to sneak around behind this demon as he passes.<p>

"Come out, come out, little bitch," the demon hisses, voice low and hissing and Dean shudders, biting his lip and turning his back away, forcing himself to stay perfectly still. It sounds like the demon is getting closer and Dean tenses up, preparing himself to fight this bastard with his bare hands.

He closes his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath when he feels like the demon is creeping closer, his fingers curling into the crumbling wall. Quickly, not wanting to give the demon a chance to retaliate, he darts out, grabbing the creature around the throat and slamming him up against the wall. The demon yells out in pain, tail arching up high above his head and jabbing at Dean, which the demon barely ducks, baring his teeth in grim determination. He jerks his knee up into the demon's gut, forcing him down to his knees, and takes the sharp barb of his tail, forcing it to pierce the back of the demon's neck, grunting in satisfaction when the venom is injected and the demon goes momentarily still. Again, won't kill it, but it'll have to do for now.

He doesn't have a lot of time – the yell will have drawn attention. Without wasting another moment Dean gets to his feet, almost stumbling in his haste, and starts running upwards – another circle of Hell, a gateway, it doesn't matter. He just can't stay in this circle. The circle of lust.

Dean doesn't even see it coming.

Suddenly there are hands on him, and a body pressing up tight to his back, the force of the tackle sending him to his knees which become ripped open on the sharp floor, along with his palms when he tries to brace himself, and Dean makes a harsh, pained sound at that, but can't spare a thought towards it – he is being attacked, the creature holding him down heavy, and powerful in a way that Dean can feel through his very bones, in his fingertips and pounding in his skull.

Then, one of the creature's hands goes around his neck, first knuckle of his finger pressing tight against Dean's Adam's apple and cutting off his air supply, and the demon is forced to go still or risk choking, straightening up so he in on his knees, panting from the hunt.

His eyes flatten to black as he growls, shoulders tensed, fighting against the hold when the creature forces his legs back and out from under him, so he is laying flat on his stomach, his naked flesh being seared against the hot floor, the hand still pressed tight around his neck before a familiar voice whispers in his ear; "Hush, baby, I've got you now."

Dean's eyes widen and melt away to bright green, as he tries to turn his head. "…Cas?" he whispers, scarcely daring to believe, and catches a flash of blue eyes and a sharp smile from the corner of his eye. He breathes out a heavy sigh of relief. "Cas," he repeats, closing his eyes as his body goes lax, not exactly trusting, but obedient – he will not fight the Leviathan's hands.

"Dean." Castiel presses his mouth against Dean's neck, his stubble scratching the demon's sensitive flesh and Dean makes a soft sound of pain when Castiel's weight presses down on his ass and thighs, the Leviathan straddling him and forcing him harder against the floor.

"Cas, please, hurts," Dean mewls, bracing himself against the floor and trying to push himself back, but the Leviathan's weight is heavy and he can't get any leverage, especially when Castiel pushes him down, settling easily against Dean's ass, and the demon closes his eyes when he feels Castiel's hard cock press up against him. "_Cas_…"

"How many times am I gonna have to rescue you, baby?" Castiel asks, his voice low and hard as he moves his hand from Dean's throat, fumbling with his clothes and pushing them aside to free his cock, before he sucks a finger into his mouth, getting it wet, and forces it inside of his lover. Dean hisses, tensing up a little, but is used to taking Castiel – usually more than this at a faster pace – and he quickly forces himself to relax, trembling against the burning ground. His skin is stained the color of blood from burns and sweat is dripping off of his face, wetting his hair and his skin, and Castiel leans down, breathing in the scent of Dean's pain. "You're so fucking beautiful. Shouldn't have sent you away."

Dean gasps softly when Castiel shifts, kneeling up, and leans forward, bracing himself by putting his hand down hard on the back of Dean's neck, and thrusts inside of the demon, ignoring his whimper of pain, hilting himself until there is no further to go. "Proven you can't keep yourself outta trouble, haven't you?"

The demon whines softly again, turning his head to press his cheek against the brimstone as Castiel rocks in deep, feeling like he's splitting Dean in two with his cock, before Castiel removes his hand from the back of Dean's neck, and takes the demon's wrists in his hands, forcing them over Dean's head. Like this, flattened over Dean like an animal, Castiel begins to rock, teasing his cock in and out of the demon as Dean pants and moans in a mix of pain and need – it has been too long since Castiel fucked him, owned him like this Hellfire-hot bubbling-need-in-his-belly kind of way. It feels slow, consuming, how Castiel slides in, dry and tight and so hot, forcing them together while Dean can do nothing more than take it and he does, tilting his hips up to meet Castiel's thrusts but that's all he can really do to participate and he loves it.

"_Cas_," he moans, clenching his eyes tightly shut, his fingers clenching tight enough to cut into his palms, and he grits his teeth, biting his lip when he feels Castiel's lips drag across his neck, along the bare line of his throat, and then the Leviathan bares his teeth and bites down sharply, his serrated, backward-facing teeth piercing Dean's flesh as easily as a knife through hot butter. He bites down until his jaws almost close, around Dean's windpipe, and sucks at the hot flow of blood.

_Only you_, Castiel whispers in his head, unaware if Dean can hear him or not, and his eyes flare brilliant blue underneath his gently closed lids, and he sucks at Dean's neck, his long tongue curling inside, his hips forcing him deep, and he comes, spilling his seed deep inside of Dean – the scent of his claim mixes with the sweat and the blood in the air and Dean gasps, panting without a sound because Castiel had damaged his neck so, and then Castiel lets him go with another long lick. Dean whines, can't speak, stares blankly ahead because he can't move his head, can barely find it in him to force air into his lungs.

And Castiel laughs. "Come on, baby," he whispers, petting a hand through Dean's hair and placing a bloody kiss to his unmoving mouth. "Let's get you home."

* * *

><p>Castiel carries Dean's soul inside of him as he makes his way out of Hell, demons scattering in his path. He practically flies to the motel room where he had left all of their things, after picking up the duffle bag of Dean's tools for the demon, and under the cover of nightfall, he unloads and carries Dean's body inside of the motel room, careful that an unsuspecting person might not witness his unclothed or bloody state or the dead body he's toting.<p>

He lays Dean out reverently on the bed, unwrapping him as though he were a precious jewel that Castiel is afraid to break, and presses his palm against the side of Dean's face. Healing magic flows through him, powered by Dean's own soul, and the burns and cuts on the body from the Holy Wood and the iron around his neck heal away, before Castiel leans down and kisses Dean, breathes the demon's soul back into his body.

Hardly a second passes before Dean is surging up, hands fisting desperately in Castiel's thick hair, pulling the Leviathan down onto the bed with him, and he rolls them over. Dean kisses him like Castiel is air and Dean had been drowning, his lips meshing so perfectly with Castiel's, tongues curling and sliding against each other, and Dean gasps against Castiel's mouth, panting hard for air, his eyes bright and green and grateful.

"Knew it," he whispers, leaning down to nuzzle against Castiel's neck and the Leviathan purrs and lets him, eyes half-lidded and glowing gold. "Knew you wouldn't leave me down there."

"Perhaps I should have," Castiel replies, his voice neutral, but the words are harsh and Dean pauses, biting his lower lip and pressing close like a dog who knows it has done wrong, and so tries to placate its master with affection. The Leviathan hums softly and Dean settles, as Castiel's hand gently drags up Dean's bare back, cupping his skull, fingers threading gently through his hair. "You can't always rely on me, you know, baby."

With that, he jerks Dean's head back, forcing their eyes to meet, and snarls, sitting up and forcing Dean onto the floor by the bed. "You little _bitch_," he snaps, getting to his feet and pacing away from Dean. "Have you lost all of your instinct? Anyone could have smelled the salt, felt the power of the traps…" He strides away from the demon, knowing Dean will stay still, and goes to the duffle bag. "I think you need to be reminded."

Dean swallows, eyes widening slightly when Castiel turns back around, eyes flat black and gold, and he is holding Dean's demon knife – an extension of Dean's soul, held in Castiel's capable, deadly hands. The demon trembles, fear saturating the air as he stares up at his powerful lover.

Castiel smirks, advancing on Dean again, and drops the knife down, letting the point rest just under Dean's chin and tilting the demon's head up. "Don't worry, baby," he whispers, voice low and deadly and like a serpent's hiss, and Dean shudders, lips pressed together, eyes flashing to black in defense.

The blade presses in, and Dean's whiskey-oil-danger scent hits him like a blow to the chest. Castiel breathes deep and smiles too wide. "I'll take good care of you."


End file.
